The House of Grey- Volume 5 (22 page)

Monson lashed forward. He had had enough of the talking. He did not know why these two men were speaking to him, but they needed to go.

The smaller one disarmed him with a single upward slash. Monson sank to the ground, feeling the despair of his own inadequacy. He could not do anything. He had lost. He had failed his friends. And now…now he would die without even a chance to say goodbye.

The two soldiers moved to his side while Monson struggled to look for his blade. Maybe if he could…no, it was no use; the blade was more than a dozen feet away. It was over.

Monson felt the cool touch of the metal glove on his hand. He would have to try to use a spell and pray that whatever he summoned worked.

A whiplash of shining black hair was suddenly in front of him. Cyann, from out of nowhere, jumped into the fray, placing herself between him and his attackers. Now holding two of the black-clad commandos’ blades, she extended herself to her full height, one blade in her fore grip and one in reverse. She positioned them aggressively, waiting.

Monson looked around the room. All of the other commandos were down for the count; the only ones left standing were the two reds. If Monson could somehow get a blade, they might have a chance.

“Peace.” The two red-clad fighters bowed. “There is no need; we have acquired what we came for. The Being of Seven Bloods is a strong one indeed.”

Cyann relaxed her stance just a bit. “The Being of Seven Bloods? What’s—”

“We shall meet again, young ones, even as the Augur wills it. We shall meet again.”

The larger soldier started tracing his fingers through the air, leaving yellow streaks in their wake. The runes lit up brightly in front of him as the two commandos took a step back and waited. In mere seconds, the entire rune began pulsing, and grew larger and larger before their very eyes. In one quick motion the large man punched it, bringing both the rune and
himself
to the floor. The smaller commando uttered a phrase.

“Specialty One: Folded Space.”

Monson and Cyann shrank back, Monson scooting on his butt cheeks while Cyann danced backwards on tiptoe. They felt the small of their backs bump against the wall as the very floor at their feet opened to reveal a glowing yellow nothingness. Without a word, the commandos jumped into the hole, disappearing within its depths. Then, the space closed up after them.

Cyann crumpled to the ground next to Monson, breathing hard, her eyes wide and unseeing. Monson did not feel any better than she did. They had just come really close to dying; if those two had not backed off…they would be goners. A pulse of anger shot through Monson as he grabbed Cyann. The far-off look in her eyes cleared once he did.

“What the hell, Cyann?”

Cyann’s face changed, mirroring Monson’s anger. “What do you mean? What’s your—”

“Why did you jump in front of them?” Monson gripped her arm.

Cyann’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean what was I doing? I was saving—”

“Cyann!” yelled Monson. “Don’t you get it? What’s the point of me surviving if it just gets my friends killed? I won’t allow it. You should have run. You should have run and not looked back.”

“And just left you to die?” snapped Cyann.

“Yes! Run and live.”

Cyann yanked herself from his grip. Two small fists connected to his chest in rapid succession, followed by a powerful smack. Monson felt his body lean back and a sharp pain bloom across his face.

Cyann had slapped him just like she slapped Boston Timberland. It was apparent that she was no respecter of persons. Monson cupped his reddening cheek.

Cyann’s voice resounded like the growl of a beast of prey. “Leave you? LEAVE YOU? You want me to leave you and just run away! Like hell I will. I don’t know what’s going on but I’m not letting you face this alone. If you ever tell me to run away again I will do more to you than just a small slap. Remember that.”

Monson’s body sagged as his energy left him. He whispered, “Idiot girl, your life is worth much more than mine.”

Cyann leaned down right next to him. “Idiot boy, that’s not for you to decide; now let’s take care of your wound.”

***

Fifteen minutes later, his wound bandaged and wrapped, Monson and Cyann started searching among the equipment and maps, trying to find anything that might explain what was happening to Coren. Despite their best efforts, the commandos’ purpose in being at Coren remained a mystery. It was like a puzzle with missing pieces and no matter how they arranged the remainder of the puzzle, the missing pieces obscured too much of the picture to allow for any clarity. They were also running out of time. Monson did not know how many more of those commando guys there were, but if this was in fact their home base, sooner or later the others were bound to return. There was also the issue of the Jupiter statue. They had not heard a peep from the giant since his dramatic fall earlier, but Monson had a funny feeling that it was not over for the big guy. They had already tarried here too long. It was time to go.

“Cyann, we need to leave,” said Monson, almost pleading with the girl. “There are probably more of those commandos around here. We don’t want to meet up with them.”

“Not yet Monson,” answered Cyann in obviously irritation. “I want to know what happened to everyone and why none of the phones are working.”

“We don’t have time for that. Those commando dudes could come back at any moment. We should take to the woods like we planned.”

Monson touched her shoulder. “I understand your reluctance but—”

“No you don’t!” snapped Cyann. “You don’t understand at all. I can’t lose Indigo, Monson, I can’t….”

Monson put his hand on Cyann’s. “Listen to me, Cyann. The answers that we’re looking for aren’t in here. I know how worried you are. I’m worried too. But we can’t stay here. We just can’t. They’ll find us and then we’re no good to anyone.”

He started to pull her up. “Please just trust me on this one.”

He felt her body go limp and knew that she had finally acquiesced to his request. They stood up and started to move around, gathering weapons. Cyann strapped two of the smaller blades to her back. They were very much like the kodachi, or at least the wooden version she used. That was definitely a good thing to have if they became entangled in another fight. The weapons also appeared to have a calming effect on her, which helped Monson breathe a bit easier.

Noise coming from the direction of the Atrium caused them to go silent and still. They inched closer to each other, preparing to flee. Monson inhaled deeply. They needed to calm down. If they went ripping from this room and people were really there, a pursuit and fight was sure to follow. They needed to get out of there quietly. Monson held up a finger to his mouth; Cyann nodded.

A cacophony of noise streamed in to where Monson and Cyann stood. It sounded like voices. The voices were muffled, but Monson was positive that whatever they were saying, it was not good.

“We need to leave. Any ideas?” Monson whispered.

Cyann bit at her lip looking mildly hesitant. “I do, but….”

Her voice dropped as a new voice boomed from the Atrium. Cyann and Monson stopped to listen. They tiptoed towards the
door
as the voice grew louder. Suddenly they both recognized who was speaking.

Cyann began again. “You don’t think…you don’t think that he is responsible for all this, do you?”

Monson wearily ran a hand through his hair. “Who knows? I’m going to look out and see if there’s anything worth seeing.”

Monson peeked out from behind the door, just a fraction at first and then a bit more once he realized that no one was looking
their
way. It was not a pleasant sight. Twenty or so commandos were shoving dozens of students to the ground, guns and swords pointed at the cowering teenagers. They were all surprisingly quiet, like they were waiting for something to happen. A large screen projected the grinning, masked face of Christopher Baroty. He was already well into a speech. Monson closed his eyes to listen.

“I am not above compassion, but at this point I will not tolerate troublemakers. There is much to be done and little time to do it. I promise that most of you will not be harmed. Actually, most will soon be rejoicing at the peace and prosperity attained by my actions. However, I am not above using violence to achieve my objectives. You will cooperate or you will die. For the uninformed, this is how it has always been and always must be. I should warn you that my associates are not as kind as I am. Now that we—”

“Enough of your babbling! What you do you want, Baroty?”

Monson flinched slightly as the voice interrupted Baroty’s speech. He did not recognize it, but it sounded authoritative. Baroty’s face, or rather his eyes, became cold, though Monson could detect the anger flaring just behind them. Anyone who was watching could actually feel the weight of his anger. Baroty did not answer the question, but merely gestured with a dip of his chin. A
terrifying scream
followed a half-second later.

Baroty smiled broadly. “The good late senator brings up a valid point. What do I want? What I want is everything, and soon I will have it. But right now, I would settle for Monson Grey.”

Whispers broke out; Monson was not sure whether it was the people who were sitting with Baroty, wherever he was, or the people in the Atrium. Regardless, Baroty waited until they were silent. He addressed the camera.

“I know you’re out there, Mr. Grey. I know you’re watching. I’m not going to find you, because soon you will come to me. Really, it’s in your best interest.”

Monson glared at the screen. “Best interest, my a—”

“You don’t believe me?” asked Baroty. “You need…convincing? Well, how about this?”

Baroty’s lips pressed together as his hands went for his mask. The sound of Monson’s own heartbeat drowned out all other noise as tears streamed down his face.

“No….” said Monson quietly. “No…it can’t be….”

He crumpled to the ground fe crHeor the second time that day as he stared into the face of Marques Grey—into the face of his grandfather.

Chapter 56 – Betrayal

His audience stared up at the face of Christopher Baroty, ignorant of the significance of his words. The commandos merely postured arrogantly.

“Monson, what is it?”

Monson felt his numb body reanimate as Cyann’s hand touched his shoulder. He turned to look at her, willing his tears of horror to morph into tears of anger and indignation. He grabbed Cyann’s hands, surprising her. He whispered softly.

“I wish that we had more time.”

Cyann’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“Monson, what’s wrong? Why are you acting—
”

“I’m sorry,” interrupted Monson as ice formed in his veins. “I’m afraid that we aren’t going to be able to have that talk after all.”

Cyann stared at Monson, her deep blue eyes rolling over him in concern and confusion, not noticing his tightening grip. Her expression changed as she realized what he was about to do.

“Monson, don’t even think about—”

It was too late; the phrase was already past his lips.

“Combat Spell Six: Disturbance.”

Cyann’s body went limp in Monson’s arms and for the second time in the past twenty-four hours he scooped her up like a baby.

“I’m really sorry to do this to you, but I don’t want you to see what will happen—what I will become. I’m going to a place where I can’t let you follow. Live long, fall in love, get married, have children, and learn to smile freely. Hopefully every so often you and the others will think of me.”

Monson attempted to maintain his composure. His grandfather was alive, alive and probably responsible for everything—everything.
The scars on his body, the destruction at Baroty’s Bridge, even Dawn….

Dawn, thought Monson. Can I even trust Dawn anymore? He didn’t know where Dawn came from, who he was, or how he came to be, only that Dawn had been placed in Monson as some sort of safeguard, a precaution to keep Monson in check…but that didn’t automatically make Dawn untrustworthy, did it?

It was irrelevant at this point. Monson was going to him…was going to find him and finish this. He did not know what Christopher Baroty…no, what Marques Grey had up his sleeve, but he was going to end it, finally.

Resolve firmly in place, Monson retreated into the innards of the common room, moving towards the door that the red-cloaked commandos had entered from earlier, the entrance to the rarely used self-service laundromat. A long, steep staircase with no fewer than three landings led Monson deep underground to another door simply marked “Self-service.” He wasted no time pushing open the door, being careful not to bump Cyann. A stillness and foreboding silence greeted him.

The room was long and neat, with several rows of newfangled side load washers and dryers, which looked so new that Monson had to wonder if they had ever been used. Yet not everything was neat and orderly. On the far side of the room near an unmarked door was a defined outline of still-smoldering destruction. In this quadrant of the room, soot-blackened floors were visible below cracked and crumbling machines. Weapons of the same type Monson and Cyann had stolen from the commandos lay scattered about, many of them broken and sitting companion to a host of tattered forms. Ripped and bloody fatigues hung from some of them while others wore shredded and stained party dresses and men’s dress clothes. All of them were piled unceremoniously in a corner.